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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/22899973">love lies bleeding</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlight_in_the_gloom/pseuds/starlight_in_the_gloom'>starlight_in_the_gloom</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mechanisms (Band)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Angst, Gen, Hanahaki Disease, M/M, Multi, but it’s a farce of sorts, i had to post this quick so I could be fic 100, my sense of humor isn’t funny so I’m not sure I should tag this as comedy, not many emotions yet but THEYRE A COMING SOON, the mechs kill each other a few times. you know the drill, these people are dumb. Brian suffers</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-02-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-02-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 12:27:31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,733</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/22899973</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/starlight_in_the_gloom/pseuds/starlight_in_the_gloom</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s all rather ridiculous. </p><p>(Or; Brian has hanahaki.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Drumbot Brian/Jonny d'Ville, background relationships maybe coming later?</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>16</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>106</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>love lies bleeding</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>At first, Brian thought it was gore.</p><p> </p><p>              Which would have been very strange, considering there were no organs in his body that were, ah, <em> organic, </em> but stranger things have happened. It took him several moments of silent horror to realize the red, ropey mess that had come from his metal lungs was, in fact, flowers.</p><p> </p><p>              See, when the coughing had begun, it was weird enough. Brian couldn’t remember the last time he’d been sick; it had been before he met Dr. Carmilla, certainly. Maybe even in that clouded, foggy life before his death.</p><p> </p><p>              He didn’t even need to breathe, usually.</p><p> </p><p>              He’d assumed it was some error in his mechanisms. He’d planned to leave the Aurora to her devices—not for long, he promised her—and retreat to his little-used quarters, open up his chest and have a look about.</p><p> </p><p>              Then he’d seen Jonny through a cracked open doorway and paused—and he was muttering to himself and scribbling in a green spiralbound notebook—and he sang something under his breath, something violent and deeply unhappy but soft and—</p><p> </p><p>              Brian started coughing again, hard and painful, and he stumbled away to his room. Though he knew Jonny had noticed (he’d startled with a shout and knocked his harmonica off the table) he hadn’t followed.</p><p> </p><p>              What he coughed up was dark purplish red, but fairly dry. He supposed he didn’t have much fluid in his brass organs to wet it, save for the streaks of black, brackish motor oil that slicked the petals. Because they were, of all things, petals—strands of little blooms clustered on catkins. If he were to guess, he might say they were amaranth flowers.</p><p> </p><p>              Probably not an error in his mechanisms themselves, but definitely an issue. He pulled out a toolbox and got to work.</p><p> </p><p>              After about three hours and digging around in his chest and carefully removing remaining strands of flowers—it was a singularly unpleasant experience—his lungs and throat were clear of organic material, but he couldn’t find the source.</p><p> </p><p>              “Maybe it was something I ate?” he muttered aloud. Thing was, he didn’t actually eat.</p><p> </p><p>              He sighed and returned to the bridge.</p><p> </p><p>              The incident was more or less forgotten.</p><p>             </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>              “We could also just watch her keep chasing that ship for another decade,” Jonny pointed out. “It’s been pretty fucking funny so far.”</p><p> </p><p>              “If it isn’t caught now, I’m not sure it ever will be.” Raphaella said with a frown. “And we’ll never learn what’s inside.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I’ll tell you what’s inside—metal and skeletons and boring things! You know what’s not boring? Watching Ahab going utterly batshit over a glitchy hunk of metal.”</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s fascinating, actually,” Marius agreed. “I’d like to ask her some questions!”</p><p> </p><p>              “No one cares, Marius—” “I don’t give a flying fuck, Von Raum—” Raphaella and Jonny said at the same time, then glared at each other. There was a beat of tense silence, punctuated by the clicking of Ashes idly spinning a lighter over their knuckles.</p><p> </p><p>              “There’s a 23.8% chance the <em> Moby Dick </em>’s records are still intact,” Ivy spoke up. “I want to know what happened to it.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I want to blow it up.” Tim said, grinning.</p><p> </p><p>              Raphaella sighed irritably. “That would defeat the point, Tim.”</p><p> </p><p>              Click, click.</p><p> </p><p>Jonny had seemed momentarily tempted by the prospect of a story and violence, but he set his jaw stubbornly and crossed his arms. “It’s a stupid fucking idea. We’re not going down there, and that’s it.”</p><p> </p><p>              Then Raphaella turned on him. “Brian, you’re the pilot,” she said. “Thoughts?”</p><p> </p><p>              He shrugged. “I—”</p><p> </p><p>              “He doesn’t want to go, he has space pneumonia or whatever,” Jonny interrupted, scowling.</p><p> </p><p>              There was another beat of silence, significantly more befuddled than the last.</p><p> </p><p>              “Space pneumonia?” Raphaella asked with a tilt of her head. Brian shuddered at her tone. He was not interested in being vivisected that day. “That sounds—"</p><p> </p><p>              “Jonny’s a fool-" the first mate squawked indignantly— “-and he doesn’t know what he’s talking about,” he said quickly. “Space pneumonia is not a thing.”</p><p> </p><p>              “And that’s why you were coughing your lungs out just now,” Jonny said, unimpressed.</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s been three months since, actually—”</p><p> </p><p>              He flapped a hand. “Same difference.”</p><p> </p><p>              “<em> Three months </em>is a large difference, Jonny, and I—”</p><p> </p><p>              “C’mon, Brian, don’t be such a—"</p><p> </p><p>              “Stop interrupting me, please—”</p><p> </p><p>              “You interrupted me!”</p><p> </p><p>              “You interrupted me first!”</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, fuck off! The <em> point is—" </em></p><p> </p><p>              Raphaella cut in, “The point is that Brian’s the pilot, so he can make the final decision.” She crossed her arms over her chest and leaned back, wings flicking.</p><p> </p><p>              “Bullshit,” Jonny said. “I outrank all of you.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You ain’t the captain. Why so stubborn, Jonny? Scared?” Marius asked with a grin.</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m not bloody scared!” He snarled. “I just- don’t see the point! It’s- it’s not- why would we-”</p><p> </p><p>              “You’re scared!” Marius crowed.</p><p> </p><p>              “<em> Look </em>, Raph, if all you wanted was another science experiment, you could just take a look at that space pneumonia—” Jonny tried again, and Raphaella got that considering look in her eye. If it was possible, Brian would have paled.</p><p> </p><p>              “Perhaps we<em> should </em> board!” He said desperately instead. “It would feel awful cruel to leave Ahab and her crew to their mad hunt—"</p><p> </p><p>              Jonny made a sound of disgust and reached for his morality switch, but Brian pushed off in his swivel chair, narrowly avoiding his grasping fingers.</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s decided, then!” Raphaella said brightly. Well, as bright as Raphaella could get.</p><p> </p><p>              “No, no, now hold on—” Jonny said, standing, scowling.</p><p> </p><p>“Fortunately, you’re not the captain, Jonny, and majority has ruled,” Brian said, rolling back over to the dashboard. “Down we go!”</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m going to take you apart and turn you back into a clock,” Jonny replied, eyes glinting, but Brian was already steering Aurora to the massive ghost ship Captain Ahab had made her prey.</p><p> </p><p>              The Aurora was not a fan of the <em> Moby Dick </em>, but she went, albeit begrudgingly.</p><p> </p><p>              In all likelihood, the <em> Moby Dick </em> had been a functioning, flourishing vessel, once. When Captain Ahab had first met the <em> Moby Dick </em>, it had been a ghost ship for centuries, but it’s corrupt AI and defense programs still attacked anything it considered hostile.</p><p> </p><p>Which was everything.</p><p> </p><p>It was a malfunctioning mess. Ahab swore it held malevolence to rival that of any man.</p><p> </p><p>              Jonny had met her in a bar, apparently, and thought it’d be fun to watch her chase after the ship that had blown her crew out to pieces and taken her leg with it.</p><p> </p><p>              Brian just felt bad for Ishmael.</p><p> </p><p>              The <em> Pequod </em> , small and ragged, streaked through the void, dwarfed next to the <em> Moby Dick. </em>The ghost ship swam in slow, shuddering circles through the great black, with no apparent rhyme or reason. The Aurora followed its trail carefully.</p><p> </p><p>              Tim stood and cracked his knuckles, duster billowing dramatically as he left to man the guns, Brian assumed. Raphaella seemed to assume much they same; after millenia travelling together, they were familiar with each other’s habits.</p><p> </p><p>              “Don’t damage it too much,” Raphaella warned Tim. “There’s no use studying a floating pile of wreckage.”</p><p> </p><p>              “It’s already a floating pile of garbage,” Jonny muttered. He was ignored.</p><p> </p><p>              “Yeah, yeah, I got it,” Tim waved her away. His grin was far too giddy. He probably didn’t get it.</p><p> </p><p>              “Well, I’ll see you in a bit!” Marius said gleefully. “I’m going to the <em> Pequod </em> to <em> psychoanalyze </em>!” And he left to do his work.</p><p> </p><p>              Click, click, click— went the lighter.</p><p> </p><p>              As the Aurora drew closer, he could get a better view on the <em> Moby Dick </em> —it was an old battleship, the likes of which hadn’t been built since King Cole’s armies. It was a mammoth leviathan, however, unlike the graceful form the <em> Odette </em>once had. It’s pale bulk stood out like a scar against the void. The sight of it filled Brian with an awful despair he couldn’t quite explain.</p><p> </p><p>              “What now, genius?” Jonny said sarcastically. “How do you propose we bring that thing down?”</p><p> </p><p>              “No need to be rude,” Brian said. Jonny glared at him. His eyes were made stark and bright by the streaks of black paint, and Brian found himself staring—</p><p> </p><p>              “We shut it off from the inside,” Raphaella said simply. Her wings fluttered for a moment, as dainty as racks of knives. “It seems Marius and Tim are having their fun—I don’t suppose any of you are interested in coming?”</p><p> </p><p>              The Toy Soldier was already snapping a crisp salute. It grinned at Raphella and said, “I Would Be Happy To Take Part In This Conquest, Dear Friend!”</p><p> </p><p>Ashes stood too, tucking away their lighter in a flick of the wrist that would have been any magician’s envy. “I’m down for some action,” they said with a smirk.</p><p> </p><p>              “I’ll stay. Find their records and bring them back, please.” Ivy requested, and Raphaella acknowledged her with a nod, although she rolled her eyes when Ivy wasn’t looking.</p><p> </p><p>              “What about you? Are you going to keep being an asshat?” She asked Jonny pointedly. He stuck his tongue out at her. She flipped him off as she walked backwards and out of the bridge.</p><p> </p><p>              The sight of the <em> Moby Dick </em> filled him with a strange, implacable dread—was this how Ishmael felt?—and it was that dread which kept him in his chair as they left. He wanted to help Ahab’s crew, because no one deserved the sort of fates that <em> Moby Dick </em>or his own crew dished out, but…</p><p> </p><p>              Ivy idly watched the <em> Pequod </em>swoop around the ghost ship, Brian drummed his fingers on his knee and Jonny steadily grew more and more frustrated.</p><p> </p><p>              “Right, right, that’s it.” He suddenly snapped and stood. “We’re going down there. Bloody <em> hell. </em>”</p><p> </p><p>              He left. Brian blinked after him. “Well. We should probably—”</p><p> </p><p>              “Don’t worry, Brian. The chances of your return are high.” This was not encouraging.</p><p> </p><p>              “You know, I <em> am </em>the pilot—”</p><p> </p><p>              “Goodbye.” She said firmly, and shoved him off his swivel chair. He hit the ground with a clang. Sighing, he got to his feet, reluctantly following the first mate down.</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>             </p><p>              Being inside the ghost ship was an uncanny feeling. Brian could see why Aurora had not wanted to come near. There was a sort of… energy, to the air. Something tense and stifling.</p><p> </p><p>              It felt strangely as though they’d been swallowed alive.</p><p> </p><p>              It hadn’t taken them long to catch up with Raphaella and the others—Brian suspected that had been intentional on her part—but passage through the ship is long and labyrinthine.</p><p> </p><p>              Oddly enough, it’s also damp. Everywhere. Like a huge throat.</p><p> </p><p>              The <em> Moby Dick </em>always rocks and shifts, but a sudden, violent jolt runs through the mammoth machine—what must have hit it, to cause such a tremor in a craft of this size?— and Brian stumbles. He twitches—he’s injured? Two holes through the shoulder and chest, a chunk out of his leg—</p><p> </p><p>Ah. Tim and the <em> Pequod </em> have blown through the outer shell of the ship. This portion, at least. Raphaella curses. “We have to hurry, I haven’t collected all my samples—”</p><p> </p><p>              “Oh, fuck your samples!” Jonny roared and went sprinting down the corridor. Raphaella’s wings flex outward, and though her expression is murderous, she sets off in the opposite direction.</p><p> </p><p>              “Damn,” Brian muttered, and he reassembled himself the best he could, but he’s limping when he follows after Jonny.</p><p> </p><p>              He nearly loses him several times, but as dumb luck would have it, they eventually burst through onto the bridge. The rotting remains of the pilot rest before the dashboard, empty eye sockets staring silently.</p><p> </p><p>              Brian rubs his chest, the metal there still somewhat out of place. “Alright, first mate,” he said sarcastically. “What’s your grand plan?”</p><p> </p><p>              “The same as it always is, my dear,” he shoots back, sneer turning the endearment into a curse, as is Jonny’s tendency. “Shoot the machines until they explode. I’m assuming <em> you </em>don’t have any objections?”</p><p> </p><p>Brian’s eyes had been caught by the still glowing control panels, and the strange images that flickered across them, barely out of focus. “Huh, that’s weird,” he murmured, and approached them. “Hold on a moment—” The numbers and letters shuddered. It looked to be the dialect of Old New English popular during King Cole’s reign-</p><p> </p><p>              “Excellent!” Jonny said happily. “We’ll do mine, then!”</p><p> </p><p>              “Wait, Jonny—” Brian grabbed his wrist and wrenched it away from the controls. Jonny’s shot ricocheted. Brian stumbled back, falling to one knee as he took a shot to the ankle. “I just fixed that leg!” He complained.</p><p> </p><p>              “Who’s fucking fault is that?” Jonny snarls, and shoots Brian between the eyes. Although the insides of his skull aren’t anatomically typical, it still sends a wave of dizziness through him and puts his sense of balance wildly off. “Don’t <em> grab me </em>.”</p><p> </p><p>              The next thing he’s aware of, Jonny is in his space, and he is dizzy for an entirely different reason. He’s not sure when he got there or why, only that he is suddenly there, and Brian can feel his body heat against his metal casing, and the perfectly rhythmic beat of his heart—oh, that’s nice, actually—and the smell of gunpowder and something he can’t quite describe, except maybe as ‘the black space between stars’.</p><p> </p><p>              Jonny’s hand is braced against his shoulder. His other hand is on the back of his neck.  Why is it there? Brian cannot think, (because of the bullet? He wants to say it is, but,) he can feel Jonny’s breath against his collarbone, and now Brian can’t breathe—</p><p> </p><p>              There’s a flick and the nerves on the back of his neck twitch unpleasantly. Jonny has pulled back out of his space, and Brian is left kneeling on the ground, blinking rapidly. Shooting the control panels suddenly seems like a perfectly valid plan.</p><p> </p><p>              The retort of rapid gun-fire reverberated about the chamber. Jonny grins triumphantly. Brian wishes the image weren’t so appealing.</p><p> </p><p>For a moment, the panel speaks: “I ask no more than to live a hundred years longer, that I may-” then cuts out.</p><p> </p><p>All the screens in the room flicker, then plunge black. There’s a moment of awful, still silence. With a horrible shriek all the lights started up again, and the ship veered wildly downward. If such a direction really exists. It veered downward according to Brian and to the simulated gravity of the craft.</p><p> </p><p>              Not the time.  </p><p> </p><p>              Brian still hasn’t regained his breath. He tries to inhale, but he just coughs violently, falling forward onto his palms. There’s a thick, soft feeling in his chest and throat. He realizes what must be happening.</p><p> </p><p>              Jonny’s messing with something near the late pilot, black smoke curling out of the control panel. The craft is still lurching violently down, then suddenly left, and up. Brian tries to say something, maybe “Let’s leave now,” or “As much as I like violence, perhaps that was a bit hasty,” or “I’m going to fucking kill you,” but hydrangeas and eglantine roses tumble from his mouth instead.</p><p> </p><p>              “What the fuck.” Jonny said eloquently.</p><p> </p><p>              Black spots swirl around the corners of his vision as Brian suffocates. He fumbles with the metalwork of his chest, maybe if he can get it up and pull the flowers out, they can go before the ghost ship kills them all. They’ll be fine, in the end, it’s just an inconvenience he’d rather not deal with.</p><p> </p><p>              In a temporary moment of insanity, Jonny drops down and starts helping. The coughing fit worsens exponentially.</p><p> </p><p>              Jonny curses, and digs his fingers in, then tears open his chest and does the same to his lungs. Thankfully, the flowers muffle Brian’s scream of pain. Jonny reaches in and pulls out long strands of flowers, tossing them to the ground next to him.</p><p> </p><p>              “What the actual fuck.” Jonny said again.</p><p> </p><p>              “Dunno,” Brian wheezes. “Jus’ happened.” He tries to help the best he can.</p><p> </p><p>              The ship suddenly tilts to the right, and there’s a moment of weightlessness, before Brian is laying dazed on the wall. He blinks.</p><p> </p><p>              “Pull yourself together, we need to leave.” Jonny barks, stumbling to his feet.</p><p> </p><p>“You know, you’re not the captain,” Brian mutters. He still slides his chest panel back on, but it doesn’t feel right. The left side is marred with indentations matching Jonny’s hand.</p><p> </p><p>              There’s the pounding of feet on steel, and Brian looks up to see Jonny sprinting down the wall that’s become their floor. Brian rolls his eyes. You know the drill.</p><p> </p><p>              He always seems to be following Jonny.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>              They make it out of the <em> Moby Dick </em> just before goes down, dragged into an event horizon. They barely escape the pull. But the Moby Dick begins it’s descent, pulling Ahab along like a noose, and the <em> Pequod </em>is—well, it’s gone, busted to pieces, but Marius has dragged the dazed and depressed Ishmael onto the Aurora. He’s fond of strays.</p><p> </p><p>              Brian is already trying to figure out the nearest place to drop him off without earning the fake doctor’s ire.</p><p> </p><p>              “I listened to the tapes,” Ivy begins. They’ve all congregated in his bridge, for whatever reason, and Ashes is opening a bottle of wine labelled in a language none of them read. “The <em> Moby Dick </em>used to be one of King Cole’s warships. They kept uploading more and more of the crew into the database as the ship expanded.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Like the Acheron,” Ashes says with a half smirk, then passes the bottle to the Toy Soldier. It splashes purple liquid down its grin, then passes it to Tim. Wine dripped from its chin. “They feed it too many souls?”</p><p> </p><p>              “No, some sort of virus got into the system,” Ivy says with a shrug. “78% chance I could have identified the virus if Jonny hadn’t blown up the controls.” She says snippily.</p><p> </p><p>              Jonny grabs the bottle from Tim right before he gets the chance to drink. Tim makes a noise of indignance surprisingly close to a squawk. “And you’re welcome,” he growls. “It’s a bloody nasty bug. An’ seeing as we have no engineer anymore—” there was an almost tangible quiet as everyone winced. Marius and Raphaella glanced at each other, but said nothing. “I made the executive to decision to keep it out of Aurora’s systems! So, you’re welcome.”</p><p> </p><p>              “I could’ve kept it out of the systems,” she said, scowling.</p><p> </p><p>              “What’s the <em> percentage chance </em>, archivist?” Jonny mocked. Ivy’s ensuing silence was rather telling.</p><p> </p><p>              “Shut it, Jonny,” Raphaella looked at him flatly.</p><p> </p><p>“Ah, that reminds me,” Brian cut in. He drew the gun he’d stolen off Jonny, turned and shot the aforementioned first mate. First in the leg, then between the eyes. “Now we’re even.”</p><p> </p><p>“How did that remind you?” Ashes cocked an eyebrow.</p><p> </p><p>              “Doesn’t matter! Just means he’s back to being Cool Brian,” Tim said, grinning.</p><p> </p><p>              “We’ll be passing the starship <em> Rachel </em>in two hours,” Brian said. “We can send Ishmael out in an escape pod, they’ll take him back to New New Bedford.”</p><p> </p><p>              “Speaking of Ishmael,” Marius produced a small leatherbound book, and tossed it to Ivy. “Happy birthday!”</p><p> </p><p>              “His journal,” she murmured, and opened it, flipping through it. “Interesting. It is not my birthday, but this somewhat makes up for the lost research material.”</p><p> </p><p>              “You’re such a bitch, Brian,” Jonny groaned, picking himself up off the ground.</p><p> </p><p>              “You brought this upon yourself,” Brian replied. </p><p> </p><p>              Jonny flipped him off. “Yeah, yeah, whatever, give me my gun—”</p><p> </p><p>              He made a grab for it, but Brian pushed off the console, spinning across the bridge in his chair. He hit the Toy Soldier and they tumbled to the ground, but he kept his grip on the gun. “You have others, I don’t see why—”</p><p> </p><p>              “Because it’s my fucking gun, give it—”</p><p> </p><p>              “See, now you’re just being childish—”</p><p> </p><p>              “I’m being childish?! Yeah, right, okay, I’m going to kill you—”</p><p> </p><p>              Jonny grabbed him by the shirt collar and yanked him up. Brian kicked out at his ankles, knocking Jonny to the ground, and as he stood, and as Brian was about to say something snarky, there was a thick, tickling feeling in the back of his throat.</p><p> </p><p>              Oh.</p><p> </p><p>              Not good.</p><p> </p><p>              Brian cleared his throat, but it didn’t seem to help much. He was faintly aware of the other Mechanisms laughing and bantering among themselves, the display already forgotten. Good.</p><p> </p><p>“I need to make some repairs,” his voice managed to come out steady. “You know, since killing me seems to have become a sport,”</p><p> </p><p>              Jonny scoffed. “It has been for millenia, Brian, get with the goddamn program.”</p><p><br/>
<br/>
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</p><p>             </p><p>              More flowers, then.</p><p> </p><p>              This was an issue.</p><p> </p><p>              He opened his chest and pulled it apart, and painstakingly removed all the organic material, but there is no sign of the cause. No roots, no seeds, just thick maroon flowers.</p><p> </p><p>              He screws in a new chest plate—he could hammer it flat, but it had been a while since he’d replaced it, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>              The biggest thing confusing him: he does not need to breathe, not… really. And yet, when his chest fills with petals, he feels as if he is suffocating. He doubts any amount of plant life would change the way his mechanisms function.</p><p> </p><p>              He suspects the flowers must be crowding his heart. Although that’s not quite how anatomy works. Brian won’t pretend that he precisely understands how his anatomy works, anyway.</p><p> </p><p>So, yes. An issue.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Jonny ambushes him as soon as he tries to leave his cabin.<br/>
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</p><p>“Fancy seeing you here, Brian—good to know I can still scare one of you godless bastards—now give me the gun, and I won’t tell Raphaella about whatever the fuck happened on that ship,” he says immediately.</p><p> </p><p>Brian closes his eyes briefly, starting and restarting one of his stress processers. If he were still human, it might have been called a ‘weary sigh’.</p><p> </p><p>“Fine,” he concedes, and hands over the gun.</p><p> </p><p>“Thank you dearly,” Jonny says dryly. “But protection from Raph isn’t protection from me. Why in hell were there flowers in your lungs?”</p><p> </p><p>“I eat flowers.” Brian said flatly.</p><p> </p><p>Jonny squinted at him dubiously. “…Really?”</p><p> </p><p>“No, I don’t eat flowers,” Brian rolled his eyes. “Quite frankly, Jonny? I do not know.”</p><p> </p><p>“Could be space pneumonia,” Jonny pointed out.</p><p> </p><p>“Space pneumonia <em> isn’t a thing </em>. Even if—”</p><p> </p><p>“You don’t know it isn’t a thing! You’re not a doctor!”</p><p> </p><p>“<em> Even if it was </em>, why would it involve flowers?”</p><p> </p><p>“An excellent question! Why does it involve flowers?”</p><p> </p><p>“Jonathan—”</p><p> </p><p>“Oh, you’re Jonathan-ing me now? Ooh, Brian’s getting serious! Slap my ass and call me Sally, I’m just so scared-!”</p><p> </p><p>Brian slammed the door shut.</p>
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